


Just Breathe

by Passion4Spike



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Comfort, F/M, Healing, Love, One-Shot, Relationship(s), Spuffy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:35:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26934478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Passion4Spike/pseuds/Passion4Spike
Summary: Spuffy. After being ripped out of heaven by her friends, there’s only one person who can help Buffy cope with a life that feels like hell in a world that’s too much, a world that she wants desperately to escape: Spike.It's a one-shot, people, so Buffy comes around pretty fast, no time for a lot of epic Slayer waffling. Just go with it and enjoy.Written for the ‘Trapped’ Challenge. Elysian Fields 14th Anniversary. October 2020Lovely banner by Paganbaby. Beta’d by my two wonderful friends and amazing writers: Holi117 and PaganbabyRating: NC-17 Language, Sexual situations, and attempted suicide (not graphic and doesn’t get far)
Relationships: Spike/Buffy Summers
Comments: 5
Kudos: 41





	Just Breathe

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended

****

**** X-X-X-X-X ****

Trapped.

Buffy was trapped.

She couldn’t see. Couldn’t breathe. Could barely move.

Darkness pressed in from all sides. The weight of the world crushing her.

There was no air. There was no sound. There was no light.

The Slayer scratched wildly at the silken fabric surrounding her, ripping and rending it, shredding it beneath her brittle nails. The sound of it tearing was ear-piercing in the utter silence, louder even than her gasping, frantic breaths which brought no air into her lungs.

She gouged furrows into the wood beneath the soft fabric, breaking her nails and bloodying her fingertips. She wanted to scream but she had no breath. Air! There wasn’t enough air! Buffy dug desperately at the splintering wood that encased her, embedding shards of pine in her hands, but it wouldn’t give way. She struck at it, bruising her knuckles, but with every blow, it did nothing but grow closer, tightening around her like a vise.

Panic boiled over inside Buffy, adrenaline surging in her veins with her growing terror, trapped in the dark with the walls closing in, squeezing the life from her. She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t push it away. Her arms were trapped against her body now and still her prison contracted, closing in from all sides. It didn’t matter now that there was no air to breathe because her coffin was crushing her, cracking her ribs, breaking her legs, smashing her skull.

A silent scream was all she could manage as the silk and wood, so lovingly picked out by her friends, throttled the life from her … _again_.

**** X-X-X-X-X ****

Buffy jerked up in bed with a desperate gasp, her eyes flashing open, her hands clasping her dry, constricted throat. Air! There wasn’t enough air! The walls of her bedroom were too close, the blanket atop her too heavy, the light of the clock too bright, the sound of crickets chirping too loud.

She flung the covers off and was out of the bed the next instant, still drawing in ragged, panicky breaths, but there just wasn’t enough air. She threw herself out the window and onto the roof, lifting her face to the sky, trying to breathe, trying not to suffocate on the too-muchness of this world. It was even more deafening out here, the nearby crickets and the cars on the distant highway, a siren shrilling somewhere in the distance, a dog barking. Here there were no walls to crush her and, still, she felt trapped. Trapped in a world that was just too hard, too cold, too full.

Her adrenaline drove her to move. Down the tree she’d climbed so many times, into the yard, still panting, unable to catch her breath. She strode in impatient circles beneath the trees in the front yard, only then noticing the tears that streaked her face as they cooled against her skin in the night air. How many times could she do this? How many nights would she die again, crushed by her own coffin? God, why had her friends brought her back to this hell?

Buffy stopped suddenly, her stomach lurching as bile exploded from her mouth. She bent over and puked violently, her whole body spasming as her stomach emptied. She couldn’t keep doing this. It had to end … somehow, it had to end.

**** X-X-X-X-X ****

_‘Like bloody clockwork,’_ Spike thought dourly as Buffy scurried down the tree, drawing in shallow, harsh breaths, on the verge of hyperventilating. She’d done that the first night and passed out on the front walk. If he hadn’t been there, watching, she’d be dead … again. News traveled fast in Sunnydale, and every demon and vampire in town knew the Slayer was back, and that she wasn’t quite right. 

It had been five days since Spike had seen her again for the first time, coming down the stairs of her house with Dawn, her hands ravaged from clawing her way out of her own grave. Then her bleedin’ friends, the ones who had brought her back, had come charging in like the cavalry, brutish bulls in a bloody china shop, dismissing him, the one person who might be able to help her, the only one among them who could even hope to understand some of what she’d been through. And it had been five nights of him standing guard here beneath the trusty oak he’d come to know so well while they’d gone on with their lives like nothing had happened. Like she hadn’t died three months ago, like they hadn’t resurrected her. Just expecting her to just shake it off like she wasn’t somehow still dying inside. Expecting her to just be Buffy again.

But it wasn’t that easy, Spike knew. He remembered that feeling of being trapped beneath the soil, of the darkness, of having it pressing in from all sides, of having dirt in your mouth and your nose and your eyes, of not being able to see or breathe, of the panic and terror. He hadn’t known what was happening to him at the time, didn’t even know he didn’t need to breathe, and he’d been haunted by nightmares for weeks afterwards. How much worse would it be for the Slayer, who did need to breathe?

Spike’s guilt ate at him. He should’ve saved her. Should’ve never let Doc cut Dawn on that tower. If he’d only been faster, smarter. He’d underestimated that sneaky little reptilian bastard, and Buffy had paid the price. His heart ached for her now and guilt twisted his stomach. Even now she was still paying. He couldn’t honestly say he wasn’t happy that Buffy was back, but at the same time, he knew she was suffering, and he wasn’t sure his tattered heart could bear it.

When she’d told him that she ‘could be alone with you here’ on that sunny afternoon behind the Magic Box, Spike had, at first, taken it as an insult. But it hadn’t been that at all. If anything, it had been a compliment. Out of all her friends, it was Spike who she could be honest with, who she didn’t have to put on a mask around. What she’d meant, he realized later, was that she could be herself – this new self, this back-from-heaven self – with him.

When Buffy started retching, he took a step from his hiding place behind the big tree, desperate to offer some comfort. This was something he could do for her because of that declaration that she could be alone with him. She wouldn’t want any of her other friends to see her this way, but he could … he did. The vampire’s movement toward her was arrested when he heard several pairs of heavy footsteps approaching from the street. _‘Bloody brilliant, they’re coming in fuckin’ packs now,_ ’ he thought, gritting his teeth and pulling the stake from his pocket.

He slipped silently up to the edge of the sidewalk, moving from shadow to shadow, unseen by either the Slayer or the approaching vamps. Spike took a quick look around the hedge he stood behind to see five male vampires approaching. Good thing he’d been working out this summer, patrolling with the Slayer’s little friends. Keeping them from becoming vampire hors d'oeuvres had him in what was possibly the best fighting shape of his unlife.

Spike heard Buffy’s retching come to an end, though she was still drawing in rough, uneven breaths, as if she couldn’t get enough air. He wished she would just go back into the house, but knew from recent experience that she wouldn’t. She would likely just start pacing in circles again, trying to calm her racing heart and find that elusive lungful of oxygen that she so desperately needed.

With his back to the high hedge at the edge of Buffy’s yard, Spike waited for the vamps coming up the sidewalk to get within striking distance. He listened to the footsteps, all senses alert, then struck like a coiled cobra. Spike’s timing and aim were perfect. With a backward arc of his arm, he stabbed the closest vamp to him right through the heart, turning him to dust in an instant. There was a collective cry of surprise from the other four, who froze in place, shocked.

Spike spun from behind the bushes, his duster whirling in his wake, continuing the sweep his arm had begun. He punched the second vamp in the throat with a deadly fist, making the vamp’s saffron eyes bulge comically. Number two staggered back, crashing into the third with a garbled yelp of surprise. They both went down in a tangle of limbs, growling and snarling. Spike ducked a wildly thrown haymaker from the fourth vamp, bringing a booted foot up in a roundhouse kick that hit the fifth attacker in his breadbasket, sending him stumbling back, his unneeded breath exploding out of him in a vicious growl. Spike continued his circle and came up with the stake at the ready. Haymaker-vamp dissolved in a flurry of dust just as number five, who had recovered from the gut-punch, leapt onto Spike’s back, driving him down onto the asphalt.

Spike jerked his head back and there was a satisfying crunch of bone as it connected with the berk’s nose. He heard the other two vamp’s cheering, “Get him, Sammy!” as the larger vamp straddling him snarled and cursed, punching wildly at the back of Spike’s head. Spike ducked his head away from the blows and rolled beneath Sammy, getting to his back, though he was still pinned beneath the bloodied-nosed vampire. Sammy lost his balance when Spike rolled and stopped the rain of blows to Spike’s face and neck for a fraction of a moment. But that fraction of hesitation was all Spike needed to clasp a hand on each side of Sammy’s head and twist with master-vampire force.

Spike was kipping back to his feet before the dust had even settled, whirling to face the peanut gallery.

Vamps two and three were growling threateningly as they faced Spike, fangs glistening, their yellow, demonic eyes flashing with fury … and fear.

Unconcerned, Spike bent down almost casually to retrieve his stake from the ground where he’d dropped it. Straightening, he couldn’t wipe the grin off his face as he bounced on his toes, eagerly waiting for them to make a move.

“C’mon, boys, two on one … how hard could it be, eh?” he taunted, twirling the stake deftly in his fingers, his blue eyes shining with glee. “Two big, strappin’ blokes like you can’t possibly be afraid of little ole me.”

They charged as one, shoulders down like the linebackers they might’ve been in life.

Spike leapt into the air, gracefully cartwheeling over them and landing with smooth, pantherine deftness on the sidewalk behind them. The two vampires crashed into thin air, stumbled, and nearly fell again, but managed to keep each other upright.

They spun around to face Spike, disbelief battling rage in in their saffron eyes.

“Lookin’ for me?” he asked nonchalantly, smirking like the Cheshire cat.

The two vamps gawped at Spike, looked at the dust littering the sidewalk, and then at each other. Without a word, they both turned and ran.

Spike started after them, but stopped after a few yards. “Fuck’s sake! Gutless prats like you give vampires a bad name!” Spike called after them, tucking his stake back into his pocket. “Sodding cowards,” he grumbled, brushing the grit from his duster and rubbing a tender spot on the back of his neck as he turned back to check on Buffy, but she was gone.

**** X-X-X-X-X ****

With her hands propped against her knees, half bent over, Buffy closed her eyes as she tried in vain to catch her breath. Her mouth burned with the sour bile, another sense being overwhelmed by this recognizable, yet foreign, world. She could feel Spike in the shadows nearby. Though it should be a warning of danger, the tingling thrum of his familiar power was a comfort to her. It was the one thing that seemed to ease Buffy’s anxiety in this topsy-turvy world, like a strong hand stroking gently down her back.

It was why she always came out to the front yard after her nightmares, to be nearer to him. He never spoke, never came too near or crowded her – not like her friends did, not like the rest of the world did. He was just there – a refuge from the too-muchness. His mere presence, the sense of his strength, helped ease her distress.

A growl rent the air and that comforting thrumming turned into a cacophony of sirens wailing inside her. Buffy looked up sharply to see Spike scuffling with more vampires – too many, too loud, too violent, too much. Buffy covered her ears with her hands and backed away, finally turning and fleeing to the backyard, away from the raging demons. Spike could handle them; she’d been told he’d been handling them all summer while she’d been … dead.

Dead. The word used to conjure fear. Not anymore. Now Buffy longed to return to the other side of life. To what lay beyond this too hard, too cold, too bright, too loud world. This was hell compared to where she’d been. She’d saved the world. She’d given the world her final gift – death. She’d been done, her fight had been over.

Until her friends decided they needed her back. And then expected her gratitude.

Buffy dropped down to sit on the back-porch steps, her head bowed, eyes closed, arms covering her ears. She was exhausted, but was afraid to sleep. Sleep always brought nightmares of suffocation, of being buried alive. She was hungry, but couldn’t eat. Food tasted too strong, the sweets were syrupy, while the savory was bitter. Nothing was the same.

A sound hit her ears at the same time as her Spidey-senses blazed into painful life. A vampire, and not Spike. Her head jerked up to see a tall, thin male with long, blond, 1980’s David Lee Roth hair wearing a Beavis and Butt-Head t-shirt which was about two sizes too small. It would’ve been almost comical except that he was only feet from her and stalking closer, his golden eyes glittering in the dark. The Slayer instinctively reached to her waistband for a stake, but, of course, she didn’t have one in her yummy sushi pajamas.

Her eyes darted around for Spike, but there was no sign of his bright blond hair in the light of the full moon. A momentary blade of icy fear ran down Buffy’s spine, a lizard-brain reaction left over from many millennia of evolution. But then it passed, and a sense of calm came over the Slayer, followed by a refreshing sensation of peace the likes of which she hadn’t felt in what seemed forever – since returning to this world.

There was suddenly enough air, as her body relaxed and her lungs were able to draw in a deep, cool breath, filling completely. The vampire was within reach of her now, his fangs flashing dangerously in the light of the stars.

She could return. Return to the heavens. Leave this world and all its harshness behind.

The vampire’s hands were on her upper arms now, hard and strong.

He smelled of pot and whiskey and blood.

He lifted Buffy up from the step as if she weighed nothing. She didn’t fight, didn’t struggle, didn’t make a sound.

Buffy closed her eyes as the rocker’s deadly fangs descended toward her neck.

Her body went limp as his fangs slid into her flesh and a small smile curved her lips.

This was it. It would all be over soon.

And then she fell onto her ass on the porch steps, landing with bruising force. Her eyes flew open to find Spike staring down at her with a mixture of horror and anger warring across his expressive features.

“What the bloody FUCK, Slayer?!” he demanded, waving away vampire dust with one hand as he tucked the stake back into his pocket with the other. “Are you out of your fucking mind?”

Hot, frustrated tears stung Buffy’s eyes as her would-be savior’s dust settled over her. She looked down at herself, lifting a hand and watching the gritty remains sift through her fingers. She reached for her neck then drew her fingers back – only a trickle of blood stained them. Not enough. Not nearly enough.

“Why … why did you…?” she muttered miserably, lifting her shimmering gaze to Spike’s again.

Spike looked dumbfounded. He started pacing in a frustrated circle in front of her, flinging his arms out in agitation as he spoke, his duster whirling around his legs with every turn. “Why? _WHY_? Cos the blighter was about to off you, you daft bint! Know ya been gone a bit, but thought you’d remember most vampires do that sorta thing around here.”

Buffy winced from both the tone and the volume. “I remember,” she whispered, covering her ears again and dropping her head toward her knees.

Buffy’s chin quivered as she tried to hold in the flood of despair that battered against her control like a rising tide, a tsunami. She closed her eyes and tried to breathe, but once again, there wasn’t enough air. Her heart and lungs constricted painfully, as if she were in that suffocating coffin again, being crushed by the weight of the world.

“Oh, Buffy,” Spike sighed, sitting back on his heels. He didn’t release her tiny, deadly hands, taking some comfort in the fact that she still hadn’t pulled away from him. She was gloriously warm, amazingly alive. He never thought he’d ever see her this way again after that horrible night. That night when her body grew cold and stiff on the unforgiving ground beneath the tower. He ached to hold her now, to pull her into his arms and … and what? Protect her? How could he protect her from this? It wasn’t a vampire he could dust or a demon he could pummel.

But maybe there was a way … something he could do or say…

“Is it the nightmares, pet?” he asked softly. “Had them myself after I … I clawed my way outta my grave. All the grave dirt pressing down on ya, in your eyes and your mouth … can’t breathe.”

Buffy looked up at him skeptically, tears glittering on her cheeks in the ambient light filtering through the trees.

Spike shrugged and gave her a small, self-deprecating smile. “Didn’t know I didn’t have to breathe. Didn’t know what had happened to me. Not until I’d reached the surface. Sodding Dru and her need for tradition – six foot bloody under. Feels like you’re being crushed, yeah? Suffocating?”

Buffy nodded slowly, her breath still coming in rough, shallow gasps. “It’s too much,” she whispered. “Everything’s too much. Too much noise, too many people, too many buildings, too many walls. Even the trees …” Buffy looked up at the huge oak in the back yard. She used to love that tree, love to sit under it on hot days, laughing or just relaxing with her friends. But now its massive limbs were oppressive, pressing down on her, and her friends were responsible. Buffy shook her head and looked back at Spike. “I can’t do it, Spike. I … I can’t.”

“You can, pet. It’ll get better—”

“I don’t _want_ to do it!” Buffy shouted at him, a crack opening in the dam that held her emotions in check. “I can’t breathe here. I can’t … I just wanna go back.”

Tears gathered in Spike’s eyes, his throat going dry, his heart cracking in his chest. He should’ve saved her that night. This was his fault. He’d saved her every night since then, all summer long, done something differently, been faster, been better. But he hadn’t saved her when it had really mattered, had he? And now she was paying the price, _again_.

“Let me help you, pet,” Spike rasped through his tight throat.

Tears still flowed down Buffy’s face, but her expression brightened with hope, her eyes widening at his words. “Can you do that? The chip … if I let you, if I didn’t struggle, then maybe it won’t fire…”

Spike looked horror-struck. “Not what I meant,” he corrected her hastily.

Buffy’s face fell again. “It’s what you’ve always wanted… to kill me. Now you won’t do it. Why? Just to torture me, is that it?”

Stab. Twist.

Spike tried to blink his tears back, but they began to gather on his dark lashes and trickle down, matching Buffy’s. “I never want to hurt you, Buffy. I love—.”

“Don’t,” she snapped bitterly, cutting him off.

“Don’t…?” Spike repeated, confused.

“Don’t say it. Don’t feel it. Don’t even _think_ it,” she demanded, desperately swallowing back her tears.

Spike snorted softly, shaking his head, still holding her hands in his. “Don’t you think I’ve tried, pet? Tried not to love you? Tried to walk away? Tried to not give a bloody damn about you? About the Bit? Bloody hell, Buffy … I can’t stop it, can’t help it. I love you.”

Buffy winced at the words. “I said stop saying that!”

“Why?” Spike demanded. “Not like you don’t know it. Not like every one of your sodding friends doesn’t know it.”

Buffy shook her head, looking down at their joined hands. Spike’s larger ones completely swallowed hers, wrapped around them like a velveteen blanket. Who knew such deadly weapons could be so gentle, so soft? Why was Spike the one thing in this world that didn’t make her flinch away? Why was the thorn in her side now her only comfort? And why wouldn’t he just stop saying those three words?

She looked back up at him, her throat tight. His blue eyes glimmered with the pain of her rejection, making her heart constrict more. Should she say it? Tell him why? Buffy swallowed hard, gathering her meager strength. “Because every man who’s ever said that to me has left,” she whispered, barely loud enough for even Spike to hear. “A-and I don’t want you to … I … you … it helps to have you here.”

Spike stiffened, his jaw clenching in frustration. “I’m not sodding Angel, or that prat of a tin soldier,” the vampire growled back at her. “Been here, haven’t I? Trying… trying t’ be what you need, Buffy. Trying to show you … Didn’t always do it right, I know that. Were some massive cockups. But I bloody well tried, and I stayed, didn’t I? Even after …” Spike’s voice broke, and he had to clear his throat. “After you died. I’m not leaving you, pet. Never.”

Buffy shook her head. “Never is a very long time.”

“Immortal, yeah? I got nothin’ but time,” Spike reminded her, a faint quirk of a smile tugging the corners of his lips before fading just as quickly. “I’m here for you, Buffy. Let me help you … I’m begging you.”

“Okay, help me. Send me back. Bite me … take my blood, take my life, kill another Slayer, and let me go,” she challenged.

Spike shook his head sadly. “I’d do a lot of things for you, Summers, but that’s not one of ‘em,” he insisted, squeezing her hands. “Let me help you … my way.”

Buffy sighed. The breath wasn’t deep enough, and it didn’t help, it just made her feel more uncomfortable in her own skin. She frowned and looked back down at their clasped hands. His grip on her was gentle but strong at the same time. A dichotomy, just like the rest of Spike. A killer who just kept trying to save her, even when she didn’t want to be saved. A monster who’d stayed with her sister all through the summer. A vampire who’d helped her friends keep Sunnydale safe when there was no Slayer. A soulless vampire who could love … if not wisely, as Drusilla had once pointed out.

“Please, pet. Trust me … I bloody well promise I won’t let you down. Not again. Not ever again.”

Buffy looked back up at him, his face a blur through her tears which refused to stop. What choice did she have? No one else had offered to help her, no one else had even noticed that she needed help. And if whatever Spike’s lame plan was didn’t work, then she could find another hungry vampire tomorrow night, one without any qualms about killing her. One who wasn’t stupid enough to love her.

Buffy gave him the barest of nods and, even through her tears, she could see the relief spread over his face in the dim light.

“And no going off finding some other vamp to drain you when I’m not about. If you do that, I’ll bloody well bring you back again just so I can kill you myself.”

Buffy rolled her eyes, adding ‘a man who actually knew her well enough to guess what she was thinking’ to the list of Spike’s strange talents.

**** X-X-X-X-X ****

Buffy waited in her dark room, dressed in layers for warmth. Spike had said it would be cold where they were going, and she should bundle up. There was only so much bundling one could do with a California wardrobe, but she’d done it. Jeans with leggings beneath them, a thick, cowl-necked, ecru fisherman’s sweater with a sweatshirt and a t-shirt beneath it. She had on knee-high boots with wool socks, a stocking cap on her head, and even gloves and a scarf in the pockets of her coat.

She was beginning to feel trapped here, sweating beneath all the layers, as she waited for Spike to return. She stuck her head out the open window to try and find some air, lifting her face up to the full moon that hung in the sky like a spotlight. Buffy considered not waiting for him. She could climb down, go for a walk. Just a girl, all alone and helpless on the dark streets of Sunnydale. It could be over soon. But Spike had made her swear that she’d wait for him, that she’d let him try whatever cockamamie plan he’d conjured up. She rolled her eyes. Who knew having a vampire – a friend? – who actually knew what you were thinking would be such a pain in the ass?

Lost in her thoughts, Buffy jerked back, banging her head on the window frame, when Spike suddenly appeared on the roof in front of her. “Ow!” she exclaimed, rubbing at the bump forming on the back of her head. “Collar. Bell. Look into it,” she grumbled at him, even as she began climbing out of the window.

Spike leered at her. “Didn’t know you liked your men in collars, pet,” he teased, taking one of her hands and helping her stand up on the shingles. “Prefer studded or jeweled?”

“Ewww,” Buffy groaned disdainfully, wrinkling her nose.

“Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it, luv,” he continued as Buffy started down the tree ahead of him.

“Don’t be a pig. And you’re not my ‘man’, anyway. You’re … you’re my annoying vampire, who I should’ve dusted years ago,” she asserted, dropping to the ground from the lowest branch.

Spike just leapt straight down from the roof, foregoing the tree, his duster billowing out behind him like a cape. His blue eyes sparkled as he moved out from the canopy of the oak into the bright moonlight. “Well, least we’ve established that I’m yours.”

Buffy rolled her eyes, following him toward the front yard. She was regretting this already.

“Meant t’ ask you, why are you climbin’ in and outta the window? Could just use the door. Not like ya gotta hide from your mum.”

Buffy shrugged. “Faster. When I … after the nightmares, I just … I need out, like now.”

Spike nodded in understanding and Buffy knew he really did. She felt a slight loosening of the coil of tension that lived in her belly with the thought. He had been through this – sort of. Dead and then … not dead. Waking up with six feet of soil atop you. Having to fight and claw your way out. Spike wasn’t exactly alive, but Buffy wasn’t sure she was either, despite her heartbeat.

At the street, Spike stopped at a motorcycle Buffy hadn’t seen before. He picked up a black helmet from the seat and tossed it to her. Buffy caught it, looking at him dubiously. “You know, there’s a reason they call bikers ‘organ donors’. If you’re going to kill me, we could’ve done that already. I’d rather just be bitten than turned into roadkill on the highway.”

Spike smirked as he threw one leg over the bike and rocked it down off the stand. “If I was gonna kill you, pet, trust me, turning you into roadkill wouldn’t be my preferred method. C’mon,” he urged with a motion of his head. “Let’s go.”

Buffy looked at the helmet and then back at Spike. “Did this come off a corpse? Did you check it for lice?”

Spike rolled his eyes. “You’re ready t’ die, but worried about lice? Think your priorities are getting a bit skewed, Slayer.”

Buffy scowled at him.

“Promised you’d let me try, Buffy,” he reminded her in a gentle voice, his expression pleading. “Please, pet … trust me.”

Buffy frowned. She looked up and down the street. It was deserted but for them, but still felt cramped, crowded – too full of things – houses and parked cars, trees and bushes – all too close and too heavy. Even the air seemed too thick, pressing down on her. Everything that used to be normal was so not normal anymore. Including the soulless vampire looking at her with those soulful, ocean-blue eyes.

Finally, Buffy sighed and donned the helmet. She pulled out her scarf and gloves and put them on too before mounting the bike behind Spike.

“It’ll be a bit loud – sorry ‘bout that – but just trust me, all right?” he asked before starting the engine. “And hold on.”

“Is this just a way to get me press up against you?” Buffy wondered skeptically, but he’d started the motor and her words were drowned out by the deep rumble.

She fisted her hands in his duster, determined to not wrap her arms around him, but when the bike took off, she was jerked back, and the idea of becoming roadkill flashed in her mind again. Her arms were clenched around his waist in the next moment, her body pressed against his back. If she was going to get smashed on the pavement, he’d be coming with her.

**** X-X-X-X-X ****

Spike had been right about the noise. The bike was loud. The vampire seemed to be trying to outrun the sound, speeding through the empty, late night streets, blowing through traffic lights and stop signs until the ‘Now Leaving Sunnydale’ sign flashed by in the headlight. Buffy’s helmet blocked some of the sound, but it was still almost too loud for her to stand. It also reminded her of that first night she’d been back, of the motorcycles surrounding her, speeding by, taunting and threatening, and that brought back the feeling of being crushed beneath the earth.

She’d been sure that she’d been cast into hell, and it still felt that way too much of the time. Her chest tightened with the memory, squeezing out what little air she had in her lungs, making it hard to breathe. Buffy leaned harder against Spike’s back, her arms clasped around him fiercely. The comforting thrum of his power so close to her skin made it just bearable, though she still couldn’t fully catch her breath as they sped through the night.

The air was cold, and Buffy’s bundling and layering weren’t really up to withstanding the chilly October night rushing by at seventy miles an hour. Although Spike didn’t have any body heat to draw on, he made a perfect shield from the blasting wind. Buffy tucked herself against him, her thighs tight behind his, her torso pressed hard to his back, her helmeted head pillowed on his shoulder blade, eyes closed. There was little she could do for her arms and hands, though, wrapped around his slim waist. Her fingers had begun going tingly and numb when Spike suddenly cut the motor, not bothering to stop first.

The silence was heavenly to Buffy’s senses. They were still hurtling along a dark highway at literal break-neck speed, but the bike was slowing as its tires crunched and bounced over the rough asphalt. The wind continued to whistle past them, but the intensity of it was lessening moment by moment as they coasted.

Buffy sat back, switching her grip to hold onto Spike’s duster, and opened her eyes. She looked around them and saw … nothing. Nothing for as far as the eye could see. No houses. No trees. No streets. No people. No cats or dogs or cars or blades of grass. There was moonlight reflecting from white sand, almost as bright as day, and the sky was filled with a million-trillion stars. Spike turned off the headlamp, casting them into near complete darkness, only the heavenly bodies above lighting their way.

Buffy could almost imagine that she was flying, floating in the dark expanse of space beneath the heavens.

She released the hold she had on Spike and threw her arms out wide, letting her head fall back so all she could see were the moon and stars and all she could feel was the crisp, clean air billowing against her. All too soon, Spike’s boots touched down on the pavement as they coasted to a stop in the middle of the road, in the middle of the desert, in the middle of nowhere.

The only sound then was the soft clicking of the motor as it cooled. Spike didn’t speak, didn’t move, he just waited for Buffy to say or do something, not rushing her or demanding anything from her. Not like her sodding friends, who wanted her _undying_ gratitude … sarcastic pun intended. He just wanted her happy. He knew what would make her the happiest – to go back – but he wasn’t strong enough to do that, so he had to try something else.

After a couple of minutes, Buffy slid off the bike and pulled the helmet off, letting her long hair fall out in a wave of gold beneath the silver moon. She set the helmet on the ground by the motorcycle and began walking into the desert as she pulled her stocking cap on. Spike rocked the bike up onto the stand and dismounted. He unstrapped the soft panniers from the tank of the bike, slung the saddlebags over his shoulder, then followed her out onto the sand, keeping his distance, giving her space.

Buffy walked far enough away from the bike to no longer hear the ‘tick-tick-tick’ of the cooling motor, leaving her in a bubble of pure, sweet silence. She stopped and just stood there in the nothingness. No sounds. No buildings pressing in on her. No one demanding anything of her. No overpowering smells of civilization filling her nostrils. Just a wide-open expanse of _nothing_ for as far as she could see in all directions.

She closed her eyes and drew in a breath of the cool, clean air. Her lungs filled and filled and filled, expanding her belly and chest beyond anything she’d managed recently. Buffy let it out with a sigh of satisfaction before pulling in another deep, refreshing breath. Who knew something as simple as breathing could feel sooo good? After several more of these deep breaths, she turned around to find Spike standing off a few yards, watching her. His yellow hair shone in the light of the full moon, and even his face was illuminated by the brightness of the night sky.

When he saw her watching him, he started forward in that cat-like walk he had – a predator’s prowl. It was almost hypnotic, the grace and rhythm of it. She’d never known anyone who could make something so deadly look so alluring, with his head canted just so, his eyes alert, watching, listening, ready to spring. The whole look and feel of him should make her Slayer-senses burn, make her instincts scream ‘danger’, but it didn’t. It was mesmerizing, soothing to her overwrought senses.

And it wasn’t because of the chip, she knew that. It was him. It was what he’d done for her, for her sister. It was the memory of him, beaten and tortured by Glory, insisting that the hell-god could never know who the Key was, even if it killed him. It was his promise to protect Dawn until the end of the world and then staying to do just that when Buffy couldn’t. It was the look in his eyes when she’d invited him in again on that last night, when he’d said she treated him like a man. It was him standing guard over Buffy as she paced like a caged animal around her yard every night, afraid to sleep, unable to breathe, just wishing for death to come again. It was the way he gave her space, let there be silence between them, the way he never asked her for anything. Even when he said those words she didn’t want to hear, he never asked for her to echo them back; he never asked for anything.

A small smile quirked her lips. That wasn’t exactly true. He’d asked for crumbs. Buffy’s smile faded. She hadn’t been able to give him that then – didn’t believe him – and now she didn’t have any crumbs to give. She was empty, all her crumbs had been left behind, in heaven.

He stopped a few feet away, not crowding her. He didn’t know that he couldn’t crowd her, not anymore, no matter how close he was.

“What’s that?” she asked, breaking the silence, tilting her head toward the bags on his shoulder. “More Buffy therapy?”

“Could say that,” he admitted, swinging the bags down onto the sand. He squatted down and unzipped the first one, pulling out a soft, cream-colored blanket that Buffy recognized as one of hers. “Thought ya might get tired o’ standing about,” he explained, standing up and spreading it out on the cooling sand.

Buffy walked up to where he’d spread it and sat down, hugging her knees to her chest, watching him as he went back to the bags. From the other side of the pannier he came out with one of those hot/cold thermal bags from the grocery store. Buffy watched, her brows furrowed as he opened it and began setting take-away boxes out on the blanket next to her.

“Haven’t been eatin’ enough. Skin and bones, you are,” he explained as he found the plastic-ware and napkins and put them down, too.

“Forget Slimfast. The ‘Being Dead Diet’. Lose fifty pounds in ten days,” Buffy replied like one of those hawkers on the infomercials. “It’ll be the next big thing. I could make millions.”

Spike arched a brow at her. “That’s not all of it,” he pointed out, finishing up by bringing out a couple of bottles of water. He sat down crossed legged across from her and began opening the boxes. “Food doesn’t taste right, yeah? Was the same for me. Too sweet. Too bitter. Only thing that tasted good was spicy fare … curry and whatnot. All these fairytales ‘bout vampires not being able t’ eat are bollocks. It’s just that food doesn’t taste like it did before … not at first, anyway. And, thanks to Slayers, most vamps don’t hang about long enough for the sense of taste to come back properly.”

“Curry?” Buffy asked dubiously as the smell of strong, hot spices drifted up from the boxes Spike was opening. It was enough to make her nose twitch and threaten to start running. “I don’t like curry.”

“Didn’t like riding on a motorbike ‘til an hour ago, either,” Spike countered, sticking a fork into a container of Chicken Jalfrezi and handing it to her. “Try it.”

Buffy rolled her eyes and took the box from him, sniffing at it warily. “It’s gonna burn my mouth,” she complained.

“You’re the sodding Slayer not a two-year old still in nappies. Buck up, put on your big girl knickers, and eat. It’s not vindaloo, for fuck’s sake.”

“Why did I agree to this?” Buffy muttered petulantly, gathering a tiny bite of the curry on the fork and lifting it toward her mouth.

“Know you can fit more than that between those pretty lips, Summers,” Spike taunted as Buffy touched the tip of her tongue to the food experimentally.

“Don’t be a pig,” she muttered, before finally taking the small bite into her mouth. 

Spike watched her as she cautiously moved the curry around with her tongue, then finally began to chew tentatively. Her face went through an almost comical array of emotions, from dread and reluctance, to confusion, to curiosity, to surprise, to pleasure.

“Oh, my God,” she exclaimed after swallowing. “That’s … it’s …” She didn’t finish the thought before stabbing the fork into the spicy chicken dish again and taking a larger bite.

Spike’s head tilted to the side, his eyes adoring. His lips curved into a pleased smile as he watched her ravenously devour the food he’d picked out for her.

“This is so good! How is it not too much like everything else? It doesn’t make sense … it’s the opposite of sense … it’s un-sense. I never … I _hate_ spicy food!” she insisted, taking another bite.

Spike’s smile turned into a cocky grin as he handed her one of the bottles of water. “Wonder what else we can get you to love that you formerly hated,” he mused, wagging his brows at her suggestively.

“Don’t push your luck,” Buffy rejoined, setting the container down and taking the water. “What else have you got there?” she wondered, eying the other containers. Her empty stomach gurgled happily and hungrily, demanding more, and for the first time in days she actually had something that she was eager to give it.

“Got plenty for ya, Slayer … pick your poison,” he replied, opening the other containers. “Kung Pao Chicken, Tom Yum soup, and Jamaican jerk chicken.”

Buffy pulled her gloves off and went for the jerk chicken, which she’d at least heard of before, picking out a piece with her fingers and biting into it. The flavor exploded in her mouth. It was hot, but for some reason it didn’t overwhelm her like her normal favorites seemed to, and it just made the other flavors pop, coating her tongue with pure joy.

“Aren’t you eating?” she asked Spike around a mouthful of chicken.

Spike smirked. “Anyone ever tell ya it’s rude to talk with your mouth full?” he wondered, reaching for a piece of the chicken, as well.

“Is that why you’re feeding me? To shut me up?” she asked after swallowing.

Spike’s eyes seemed to soften, the blue glittering in the silver light of the enormous moon overhead. “Never, Buffy. Would talk to you forever, if you’d let me.”

Buffy rolled her eyes, but a little spark flickered to life in her chest, warm and comforting. When he said ‘forever’, did he actually mean it, unlike the others who had said it then decided she wasn’t forever material?

“Not them,” Spike breathed, again guessing her thoughts. He reached across and touched her cheek gently with just the tips of his fingers.

Buffy closed her eyes and leaned into his tender touch, which demanded nothing of her. It felt good against her too-tight skin, allowing her to relax that much more. She took another deep, soothing breath, filling her lungs completely with the cool air and scent of the food Spike had gotten for her. It felt good to breathe. It felt good to eat. It felt good to be here with him. She blinked at herself, realizing that she wasn’t thinking about heaven for the first time since being back. Except now she was thinking about it by thinking about not thinking about it.

Buffy shook herself from that dizzying thought and opened her eyes, sitting back as Spike drew his hand away. “Just want to talk now, huh? You’ve gone soft in your old age, vampire,” she chided, refocusing on the here and now and the yummy food waiting to be devoured.

“Reckon I could prove that theory wrong anytime you like, Slayer,” he taunted, running a hand down his flat abs to rest on his belt buckle, his fingers splaying out over the very distinctive bulge Buffy could see, even in the moonlight. He bit his bottom lip and arched a questioning brow at her. “Just say the word.”

“How many times can I call you a pig in one night?” she wondered, reaching for the Sichuan dish next.

Spike shrugged. “Prol’y every time I open my mouth. Oink, oink,” he suggested, picking up another piece of the jerk chicken.

Buffy nodded, snorting a soft laugh as she dug into the Kung Pao, comparing the different spices between the dishes as she savored the flavor on her tongue. The Jamaican chicken had been her favorite so far, followed by the curry. She hadn’t tried the soup yet, though…

“Save room for dessert,” Spike warned as she shoveled another forkful of Chinese food into her mouth.

Buffy’s brows rose as she looked over at him. She chewed and swallowed hastily so she could ask, “Do I need to call you a pig again?”

Spike ran his tongue along his teeth and leered at her. “Dunno, what did you have in mind for a treat, luv?”

“Not what you have in mind, Wilbur,” Buffy insisted.

Spike laughed and pulled out another box from the saddlebag. “Cacao Bean Bittersweet Chocolate Truffles,” he announced, opening the container with a flourish. “Not too sweet; not too bitter.”

“Ooooo…” Buffy cooed, leaning forward, her eyes growing wide at the sight of the dark chocolate confections, having no doubt that they would taste good to her, just like everything else Spike had brought.

She stopped ogling the treats and looked up to meet his eyes, her expression softening. “Thank you. This is all …” She waved a hand at the food then at the open space around them and finally up at the star-laden sky. “… wonderful. I … I just … thank you.”

Spike bit his lip and ducked his head bashfully, glancing up at her through his lashes. “Anything for you, Buffy. You know that …”

“Almost anything,” she said softly, her eyes locking on his in the moon’s brilliant light.

Spike gave her an apologetic smile. “Almost anything,” he agreed, holding the box of truffles out to her like an offering to his goddess.

**** X-X-X-X-X ****

After packing all the empty cartons back into the panniers, Buffy collapsed onto her back on the blanket, looking up at the stars and moon overhead. She was overstuffed, but it was a comfortable sort of feeling, a normal feeling, like from before. She supposed her life would always be divided into a ‘before’ and ‘after’. Thinking about it, she knew it would be the same for Spike – his human life and his demon life … before and after death.

Spike settled down on the blanket next to her, also looking up at the sky. His hand brushed hers where it was lying between them before coming to a rest just an inch away. Buffy shifted her hand until their little fingers were only just touching. Spike shifted his finger slightly, covering hers, wrapping over it gently so they were just barely twined together by their pinkie fingers. He was inordinately pleased when she didn’t pull away.

They laid there, listening to the quiet for a long while and feeling the nothingness surrounding them. The contact was minimal, but that, and the feeling of his strength thrumming down her spine, was just enough – just the perfect amount of comfort. And, again, he must’ve known it somehow, because he didn’t move any further, didn’t take her hand in his, didn’t ask for any more than what she was giving.

“Do you really think it’ll get better?” Buffy asked in a low voice.

“Yeah, pet, I do.”

“How long will it take?”

“I dunno … some months, I’d reckon.”

“Months,” Buffy muttered dejectedly.

“But, I’ll be with ya, help ya, if you’ll let me,” he added hastily. “Already some better, innit? Out here?”

“Yeah,” she admitted. “But I can’t stay here forever … or even for months.”

“But we can come back … every night if you want to.”

“I doubt my friends will allow that to happen,” she complained dourly.

“Fuck your friends, Buffy,” Spike growled, rising onto one elbow and turning to look down at her. Then, hastily, he added, “Not literally.”

Buffy rolled her eyes, her lips pressed together to smother a small smile. “I’ll try to contain myself.”

Spike sighed, regathering his initial indignation. “You know what I mean. You don’t owe them a bloody thing. If anything, they owe you! Dragging you back here without so much as a ‘how do you do’! Not even checkin’ where you were. Damn sure didn’t mention their daft plan to me, did they? Knew I’d never let ‘em touch you.”

Buffy reached up and cupped his cheek. “They can’t know where I was … ever.”

Spike scowled down at her, covering her hand with one of his. “They should know. Should know what they’ve done, how they’ve hurt you.”

She gave him a grateful smile. “It’s enough that you know … that you understand.”

“I do. Can tell me anything, Buffy, won’t shock me or scare me off – I’ll always be here,” he promised, turning his face in her hand and touching a soft kiss to her palm.

Buffy curled her fingers around the tingling spot on her palm and pulled her hand away self-consciously.

They both spoke at once.

“Spike, I …”

“Sorry, luv… didn’t mean...”

They both stopped, their eyes meeting across the short distance. Buffy cleared her throat and looked away first. “Spike, I don’t know if I … I mean … I’m not sure I have any crumbs to give.”

Spike’s face darkened in confusion a moment, but then cleared as he remembered begging her for a crumb in what was undoubtedly his most ill-advised plan to prove that he loved her thus far. He shook his head and touched her face with just his fingertips, a feather’s touch. “When I say I love you, it’s not because I want anything from you, Buffy. I just can’t stop the words any better than I can stop the feelings. Know I’m a monster. Know I’m beneath you…”

“You’re not – I shouldn’t have—” she interrupted, but he stopped her with a finger pressed to her lips.

“You give everything to the world. Gave your life … twice now. Gave your heart and had it crushed by wankers who couldn’t understand you, couldn’t appreciate how bloody glorious you are. It’s all you do – give. Don’t need to give me anything, not asking for anything, not even crumbs. Just … want to be near you, if I can. Be where I can feel the warmth of your light. If … it’s not too much to ask. If it is, then—”

“It’s not,” Buffy assured him quickly, pulling his fingers from her lips. She lifted onto her elbow, turning onto her side, mirroring him, and pressed the palm he’d kissed to his cheek. “I want you near me. I feel better when you’re here. You make me feel safe.”

“Probably should be insulted, eh?” he teased, ducking his head and giving her a shy smile.

She smiled back at him, urging his face back up so she could see his eyes. “Probably,” she agreed as she ran her fingers over his scarred brow and then down across one razor-sharp cheekbone. Buffy’s fingertips danced gently down to his strong jaw, following the curve of it to his chin, and then up to those soft lips.

“I’m not easy to love,” she admitted, shushing him by pressing her fingers to his lips as he’d done her. “I’m not. I know that. I’m bitchy and bossy and overbearing … and … usually I’m strong and independent and … stubborn and … and you can stop me anytime,” she teased, pulling her fingers away.

“Haven’t heard ya say anything that makes you hard to love, Buffy. All those things are a big part of what I love about you. But you forgot caring and forgiving, self-sacrificing and kind to a fault. You shine like a bloody beacon, Summers. There’s a light in you that not even death can dim. And I’m drawn to it, can’t turn away, like a moth to a flame.”

“I’ll burn you,” she warned morosely, dropping her hand.

Spike shook his head, reaching for her hand and slipping his long, elegant fingers between hers, twining them together. “It’s worth the risk. I’d rather burn in your flame than freeze in the dark.”

“You really are a glutton for punishment,” Buffy observed.

Spike quirked a suggestive smile at her. “I’ve been a bad, bad man. Punish me, mistress,” he purred, pressing his tongue against his teeth.

Buffy snorted and shook her head. “Careful what you wish for, Wilbur.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” he wondered, lifting their clasped hands to his lips and pressing another cool, soft kiss to the back of her hand, a twin to the one on her palm. When she didn’t pull away, Spike looked up at her, his expression growing serious. “Not gonna scare me away, pet. Your strength doesn’t frighten me, your fire doesn’t worry me. You’re the one, Buffy. The one that makes me want to be better, to try harder, to … to be a man … a good man, not a monster.”

Buffy blinked back tears, dropping her gaze to the blanket between them. “You don’t need me for that. You were a good man even when I was gone.”

“Because I never want to disappoint you, luv. Even if you can’t see me, even if you’re gone – you’re with me, in my head, in my heart, part of me. Can’t shake you, Slayer. You’re in my veins.”

“But I don’t know if I have anything to give you, Spike. I … I’m so empty, I … I’d be using you and I can’t—” She looked back up at him, pleading, but didn’t know for what. For him to let her go or pull her closer.

“Use me, Buffy. I’m here for you. I’m not asking anything of you, I swear it.”

“I need you,” she admitted, her eyes shimmering. “You help … having you near, it helps, knowing you understand, knowing I can talk to you … but I don’t know if I can love you. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to…”

“Just needing me is a crumb, luv. Needing me is enough.”

Buffy’s chin quivered with barely restrained emotion, her eyes overflowing with a flood of hot tears. She leaned toward him and Spike pulled her in, releasing her hand to wrap his arms around her. A sob tore from her throat as she buried her face against his shoulder, slipping her arms beneath this duster and around his waist.

“It’s alright, pet, let it out … let it all out. Spike’s here, not leavin’ ya. Tears don’t scare me … I’m here, Buffy. Just breathe … it’ll be alright, just breathe and stay with me.”

In time, her tears subsided, her wracking sobs slowed, but still Spike held her there beneath the stars, and she made no move to pull away. They lay there in the silence wrapped up in each other’s arms as the moon drifted across the sky toward the far horizon.

Finally, Spike said in a gravelly voice, “Look, luv … look at the sky.”

Buffy turned, releasing him and rolling onto her back, careful to not lose all the contact with his body. She blinked and rubbed her swollen eyes, looking up at the sky to find a meteor shower putting on a magnificent show. The sky was filled with falling stars.

“Make a wish, luv,” he whispered into her ear, his breath tickling her skin. “Take two, got plenty to go around.”

“Are you gonna make one?” she wondered.

He glanced up at the sky and then back down at her and shook his head. “Don’t need to. Got all I need already.”

Buffy rolled her eyes but smiled. “Now you’re getting sappy. Lucky for you, I like sappy.”

Spike grinned. “Good t’ know … cos I’ve got hidden depths of sappy the likes of which you’ve never seen before.”

“That’s possibly the scariest thing you’ve ever said to me,” Buffy teased, shaking her head, but then turned her attention to the stars rocketing past above them. She took a deep breath, savoring the feeling of it, how her lungs filled, how her belly lifted, how light and free she felt here, uncrushed by the weight of life. She let it out slowly, sending her wish with it as a brilliant star streaked across the sky above them.

“What did you wish for, pet?” he asked after watching a few more stars speed across the endless sky.

Buffy shifted to look into his eyes as he looked down at her, his head propped in one hand, the other slung over her stomach protectively. An enigmatic smile quirked her lips. “If I tell, it won’t come true,” she whispered before lifting up and touching a tender kiss to his soft lips.

Spike moaned against her mouth, but didn’t pursue her when she pulled away, instead gazing down into her eyes, which shone under the bright sky. “Will ya tell me when it comes true, then?”

Buffy’s smile widened. “You’ll know,” she assured him.

**** X-X-X-X-X ****

**_A few months later…_ **

“I can’t believe you jumped out of a second-story window in broad daylight, right in the path of a bullet!” Buffy chastised Spike as they walked back from reporting the day’s events to Giles at the Magic Box. In summary, Spike had been shot. Warren was in jail with the rest of his loser crew. Buffy was fit to be tied, as angry with Spike as she’d ever been.

Spike scoffed. “Wasn’t broad daylight – it’d gone five – barely even started to smoke ‘fore the witches had their monsoon spell going.” He rubbed a hand through his hair, which had curled like a French Poodle with the gel washed out. It was the one drawback of Willow and Tara’s magical downpours, which not only smothered any fires bursting out on his skin, but blocked out the sun, preventing more. “They’re getting bloody good at that.”

“It’s self-preservation. They have no choice with a vampire living in the house who thinks ‘stay out of the sun’ is just a wildly zany suggestion,” Buffy huffed.

Spike rolled his eyes and kept talking, “And clearly wasn’t directly in the path o’ the bullet, or I’d be shot. Couldn’t jump right on the wanker or the sodding chip would’a fired.”

“You _are_ shot!” she exclaimed, reaching a hand down to touch the bloodied leg of his jeans, fingering the long rip which creased the outside seam along this thigh.

Spike rolled his eyes. “Just a scratch,” he insisted, pulling her hand away and holding it firmly in his as they walked. “Already healed.”

“ _Hmph_. How did you even know he was there? I thought you were sleeping,” she questioned, interlacing her fingers in his automatically.

Spike rolled his eyes. “That blighter bathes in sodding Old Spice. Could smell him when he came in the yard, even in my sleep.”

Buffy wrinkled her nose. That much was certainly true. “I honestly don’t know whether to kick you or kiss you,” she ground out.

Spike smirked. “Could do both, know how hot it makes me when you—”

“Don’t change the subject,” she interrupted curtly, though her lip quirked up into a small smile and a rosy blush colored her cheeks that Spike didn’t miss. She stopped walking suddenly and dragged him around by their joined hands to face her beneath a streetlight. “Can we go for a ride on the bike tonight? Are you okay enough?”

Spike’s brows went up. Since that first time, he’d taken her every chance they got, almost every night, even if they only had time for a short ride just out of town, but she hadn’t asked to go now in a while, not since they’d become lovers. “Question is, are _you_ okay?” he asked, concern thick in his voice.

Buffy gave him a reassuring smile. “I’m way better than I would be if Warren had shot me,” she replied flippantly, but then grew more serious. “I just … I could use some air. Tara and Willow can stay with Dawn … maybe we could have a long night just you, me, and the stars. You know, like we used to?”

Spike nodded, searching her eyes for any signs of distress or panic brought on by that trapped feeling, but not finding any. “Sure, pet. Just need t’ shower, change … fix my hair.”

“You are such a girl,” Buffy declared as she turned and they started walking again, hands still clasped.

**** X-X-X-X-X ****

There was no hesitation now about holding on to Spike on the motorcycle – or anywhere else for that matter – and Buffy pressed against his back as he roared them out of town on the bike. It had been a while, and she’d forgotten the feeling of freedom it gave her to be speeding along, the cool night air whipping around them, the engine rumbling beneath her, Spike’s hard body against hers. The sound no longer bothered her, most things didn’t these days. Caves weren’t her favorite, but she could stand them as long as they were big. Small spaces were still a problem, though, and any demon that required crawling through confined areas to kill she left to Spike.

Buffy felt Spike’s body shift as he turned corners and rounded bends, barely slowly down. His abs tensed and relaxed beneath her hands and she shifted her weight with him, in perfect synchronicity as they flew out of town and into the nothingness of the desert beyond. A feeling of peace washed over her as they dashed through the night. It was a feeling she couldn’t have imagined ever having again just a few months ago. And the vampire – the man – in her arms was the reason for it. He’d kept every promise. He’d stayed even when she’d been at her worst, even when she’d taken every frustration out on him, battering him with fists and words. He’d never turned away from her. Never did anything but love her.

Today, when she’d seen that gun pointing at her, a sudden and startling realization flashed in Buffy’s mind – she didn’t want to die.

_She didn’t want to die._

That was huge.

And in the next moment, seeing Spike leaping from the roof, flying directly at death, she knew why. Because she wanted to stay with Spike. She loved him. She didn’t want to lose him or leave him. She didn’t want to ever be parted.

Her heart swelled with the certainty of it and she squeezed Spike tighter. She could’ve lost everything today, she could’ve died without saying those words Spike never asked for, but she knew he longed for. Words that she knew now were inside her and ready to come out.

Before she knew it, they had arrived at their spot. Spike cut the engine and the headlight, and they began to coast, gliding beneath the stars in silence.

Buffy leaned back, grinning, her head thrown back, her arms out wide, flying on the wind that buffeted her, never feeling happier than in this moment.

When Spike dropped his boots to the rough pavement and guided them to a stop, he turned back to look at her over his shoulder, his expression adoring and absurdly pleased. When Buffy pulled the helmet off, she was glowing. Glowing with life, glowing with happiness. Her fire, which he loved so much, was burning brighter than perhaps ever before, brighter than he’d ever seen it, without a doubt. She was like a sun in the night, lighting his world.

‘ _Effulgent_.’ The word popped into his mind and brought a smile to his lips. This, he thought, was what true effulgence was.

Buffy shifted her gaze from the heavens above to the man who had never given up on her, her own personal guardian angel … or guardian demon. The love that shone in his eyes was overwhelming, the softness of his gaze, the adoration, the devotion.

“I have something to tell you,” she whispered, not wanting to break the bubble of peaceful silence that surrounded them.

Spike arched a brow at her as Buffy dismounted the bike, setting the helmet down and grabbing the panniers that had been strapped behind her. “C’mon,” she beckoned with a jerk of her head, walking out onto the sand, which shone beneath the bright stars and nearly full moon.

Spike put the bike on its stand and followed obediently, as he always did. He’d follow her into the depths of hell if that was what she asked of him.

Buffy handed Spike the blanket and he spread it out while she got the food out. The Bronze had created hot wings just for them, naming the flavor, ‘The Fires of Hell’. She set the take-out container in the middle of the blanket along with a bottle of Jack. Spike watched her, waiting for whatever it was she wanted to tell him, but she didn’t seem inclined to solve the mystery just yet. He knew better than to push her – pushing Buffy only resulted in her pushing back with a vengeance.

He took his duster off and sat down on the well-used blanket, the soft sand beneath it still warm from the sun. Spike grabbed up the Jack, twisted the top off, and took a long swallow. He had a feeling he was going to need some liquid fortitude for whatever it was Buffy was about to lay on him.

“I’m still mad at you,” Buffy said as she sat down across from him, reaching for the bottle, and pulling it out of his hand. She took a small sip, making a face and shuddering as it went down, before handing it back to Spike.

“Only you could be brassed off at someone for savin’ your life,” he complained, taking another swig. He put the cap back on and set it down, reaching for one of the wings. “Bloody typical.”

“You could’ve been … well, not dusted I guess, but hurt badly,” she continued. “What if he shot you in the head … not that there’s much going on up there, but still. O-or the spine – you could be back in a wheelchair. Had you thought of that?”

Spike rolled his eyes, ripping into the meaty wing, taking his annoyance with Buffy out on it. “I’d heal – you wouldn’t,” he argued, the words slurring around the mouthful of burning food.

“Did anyone ever tell you it’s rude to talk with your mouth full?” Buffy wondered, picking up a wing for herself and taking a bite.

“Anyone ever tell you it’s rude to not show a bit of appreciation for someone saving your sodding life?” he shot back, swallowing the last of the meat he had in his mouth. It burned all the way down, hotter than the whiskey.

“Did you thank Willow and Tara for saving you from the sun?” she wondered, digging in the saddlebag for one of the bottles of Coke she’d brought. She didn’t want to be drunk tonight, she wanted to remember everything.

“Matter o’ fact, I did,” he replied curtly, finishing off the first wing and reaching for another.

“And what did they say?”

“Same as always, ‘should be more careful’, yada-yada, ‘might not always have a witch around’, yada-yada, ‘one day the sun’ll dust me good and proper’.” He scoffed. “Told ‘em if I can survive shagging you for hours without dustin’, the sun doesn’t have a sodding chance.”

Buffy choked on her Coke, turning her head in time to keep from spitting it all over the wings and Spike. “You didn’t say that!” she croaked, still trying to clear the liquid from her windpipe.

Spike grinned at her enigmatically. “Did.” He took another bite from the wing in his hand, looking supremely pleased with himself.

Buffy’s face flamed, and not from the Ghost Pepper coating the wings. “I am so gonna kill you,” she threatened, though Spike detected a pleased tone beneath the bravado.

“It’s true, luv. Your heat, your light, your passion – sunlight pales in comparison,” he purred seductively, his gaze softening, full of reverence.

“You are so sappy,” Buffy chided as a small smile quirked the corners of her mouth.

“Thought you liked sappy,” Spike replied, pushing up onto his knees and leaning over the buffet between them to brush his lips over hers.

Buffy shook her head, disagreeing. “No,” she breathed against his lips. “I _love_ sappy. And I love you.”

Spike blinked and pulled back to look into her eyes. “You … what did you say?”

“I said, ‘I love you,’” she repeated, leaning forward to close the distance that had opened between them. “I love you, Spike,” Buffy said again, before touching her lips to his.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered against her lips, pushing her back again. “Are you drunk?”

Buffy pouted. “No, I’m not drunk.”

“Red been playing in the magicks again without proper supervision?” he wondered, looking at her dubiously.

“No! God, what’s wrong with you?” she demanded.

“Me? What’s wrong with _you_?” Spike retorted, confusion creasing his handsome features.

Buffy sat back, tears stinging the back of her eyes. This hadn’t gone like she’d thought it would at all. “Nothing’s wrong with me. I’m not drunk or … or spelled. I … I thought … I just wanted to tell you, but I guess … I should’ve known,” she stammered, blinking back her emotions as she pushed up to her feet. She began gathering up the remainder of the food and drink and roughly shoving it back into the bags. “Take me home,” she demanded, yanking on the blanket, trying to drag it out from under Spike.

“Buffy, luv … wait. I –” Spike spluttered, reaching for her.

She jerked back out of his reach, dropping the blanket. “Forget it. Just take me home,” she repeated, before turning and storming off toward the bike.

Spike reached her about halfway back to the road, spinning her back around to face him. “Buffy, wait, pet. I don’t understand … what’s going on?”

Buffy clenched her jaw, willing herself to not cry. It was always the same, wasn’t it? She thought Spike was different, but no. It was all just a … a game, an act or … she didn’t know what. She’d been stupid to think giving her love to another man would end any differently. It must be her … something wrong with her, for it to always end like this.

“Buffy, please, talk to me,” Spike begged.

She swallowed hard. “There’s nothing to talk about. Forget it … let’s go.”

“Sod that. You said you loved me – I deserve t’ know what the bloody fuck is going on!” he demanded, holding her by the shoulders.

“What does it sound like is going on, you stupid vampire!?” she screeched back at him, lifting her arms and knocking his hands off her. “I was trying to tell you I loved you! I was trying to tell you that I didn’t want to die – that I … I wanted to stay here with you, that you make me want to live. I was trying to thank you for saving my life and … and tell you that my wish came true and … and …” She covered her face with her hands, breaking down into sobs and turning her back on him.

“Buffy,” he breathed, taking a step closer to her until their bodies were almost touching. “I’m such a prat … I … never thought … I’m a monster. Knew you’d never love me … I … never expected … never really believed you’d … you’d ever …” he rambled, shell-shocked.

“You’re an idiot!” she shouted, her heartbreak turning to rage. She spun back around and shoved him hard, making Spike stumble back several steps. “A stupid, idiotic idiot!” Buffy continued, stalking after him.

“Who you love?” he questioned, catching his balance just a moment before she shoved him back again.

“YES! Who I love! God, is that so hard to believe? I never realized how dense you were until this moment,” she ranted, closing in on him again. “Warren’s bullet would’ve just bounced off that thick skull of yours!”

“Told ya there was nothing t’ worry about,” he tried teasing, regaining his balance, only to draw a savage glare from her. Spike cleared his throat, changing tactics. “And … you wished for … what?” he asked.

Buffy stalked up to him, hooked one foot behind his calf and shoved him down. He fell onto the blanket with a surprised whoosh of expelled breath. Buffy was on top of him, pinning him down in the next moment, her legs straddling his hips, her hands pressing down on his shoulders.

“I wished,” she began in a low voice, her face over his, her gleaming hair falling in a curtain around them. “That you would keep your promise. I wished I could feel whole again, to be able to breathe again, and … and to not ache for death. I wished I could find love inside me again.” Her tears dripped down onto his face, leaving silvery streaks on his pale skin in the moonlight. “And you did – you kept your promise, and my wish came true,” she whispered through her tears. “I don’t want to die. I don’t want to leave … I want to stay with you, here, with you. I love you, Spike. Monster. Man. Idiot. I love you.”

Spike smiled as he reached up and ran his hands back through her silken hair, gathering it between his fingers at the back of her head. “I love you too, Buffy,” he replied in a deep, warm rumble. “I love you, I love you, I love you, I lo—” he repeated, pulling her down until their lips were crushed together, cutting off his impassioned declarations.

The tingling spice of their meal combined with the salty stain of tears and sharp tang of whiskey as they explored each other’s mouths as if for the first time. Tongues darted together and apart, teeth nipped at soft lips, moans were swallowed like manna from heaven. Then their hands were moving, finding snaps and buttons and buckles, pulling and tugging and kicking the cloth free until there was nothing but flesh against flesh. Writhing and quivering muscles bunched and relaxed as their hands swept over the hills and valleys of soft flesh and firm muscle, squeezing and caressing, lifting each other up toward the stars above.

Their hands were soon joined by their tongues and lips, kissing and licking lines of ice and fire along the other’s skin. Goose flesh prickled their bodies beneath the silvery light of the moon. Moans of pleasure broke the silent night, along with repeated declarations of love. Taut nipples were devoured by soft mouths, teased and aroused until their bodies arched and ached for release from the blissful torture.

“Spike, please, now … now …” Buffy breathed, pulling his roaming mouth back up to hers where she lay under him. “Need you now,” she repeated, wrapping her warm legs around his slim hips and pulling his hard cock toward her wet, throbbing center.

Spike shifted his hips, guiding his need into her. She gasped when he penetrated her, slipping inside just enough to make her crazy with want. Braced on his arms above her, he stopped, the head of his cock burning just inside her tight, wet channel, just on the edge of heaven itself. “Open your eyes, luv,” he whispered, holding himself still with the will of Solomon.

Buffy blinked her eyes open, her breath coming in gasping moans of pleasure mixed with a need for more, a need as vast and endless as the sky above them.

“I love you,” Spike declared. He’d said it to her before, many times, but this time was different. This time there was even more to it. There was no tinge of sadness to it any longer, no hint of the rest of the sentence, ‘Even though I know you’ll never love me.’ It came from his heart, a heart that was finally full, finally complete, finally loved.

Tears of joy glimmered in Buffy’s eyes as she wrapped her arms around his neck. “I love you, too,” she replied, knowing it was true, knowing it was real, and knowing, for the first time, it was given to a man who loved her – all of her – the good, the bad, the strong, the stubborn, the happy and the sad.

Spike dipped down, the muscles of his arms bulging, and kissed her tears away. “I’ll love you forever,” he promised as he slid all the way into her, her slick, hot walls molding around his rigid cock like a velvet glove. Their bodies joined perfectly, every part fitting together like puzzle pieces made from yearning flesh. The blissful pleasure of being joined again – now together in heart as well as body – spread from their cores to encompass their whole beings in a symphony of joy.

“Forever,” Buffy repeated as Spike lowered himself to his elbows, buried inside her, needing to feel her entire body against his.

Spike wrapped his arms beneath Buffy, around her, letting his full weight press down on her soft, supple flesh. He could never get enough of her, never enough of her heat, her passion, and now her love. _Her love._ Spike could feel the words mending the last scars he carried in his heart, healing them as if they’d never existed. He held Buffy tight, his hard body pressing down on her, and she did the same with her arms and legs, pulling him against her fiercely, as if they could somehow get any closer, merge into one seamless being.

“Is this okay? Can you breathe, pet?” he asked softly, worried he was crushing her into the soft sand, his breath cool against her ear.

“Don’t move … don’t ever move. I can breathe,” Buffy assured him with a deep, contented sigh. “I can always breathe with you.”

The end.

**** X-X-X-X-X ****

Just Breathe by Pearl Jam: <https://youtu.be/_7ioE4wRil8>

_Yes, I understand that every life must end, uh-huh  
As we sit alone, I know someday we must go, uh-huh  
Oh I'm a lucky man, to count on both hands the ones I love  
Some folks just have one, yeah, others, they've got none, uh-huh  
  
Stay with me...  
Let's just breathe...  
  
Practiced are my sins, never gonna let me win, uh-huh  
Under everything, just another human being, uh-huh  
I don't wanna hurt, there's so much in this world to make me bleed  
  
Stay with me  
You're all I see...  
  
Did I say that I need you?  
Did I say that I want you?  
Oh, if I didn't I'm a fool you see  
No one knows this more than me  
  
As I come clean...  
I wonder every day, as I look upon your face, uh-huh  
Everything you gave  
And nothing you would take, oh no  
  
Nothing you would take  
Everything you gave...  
  
Did I say that I need you?  
Oh, did I say that I want you?  
Oh, if I didn't I'm a fool you see  
No one knows this more than me  
As I come clean, ah...  
  
Nothing you would take  
Everything you gave  
Hold me 'til I die  
Meet you on the other side..._

**** X-X-X-X-X ****

**** X-X-X-X-X ****

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed this little one-shot, that it got you in the feels along the way. Thanks so much for reading! Can't tell you how much your support means to me and my sometimes elusive muse.


End file.
